Skyllian Blitz
by V-rcingetorix
Summary: Shepard is taking a vacation on the colony world of Elysium ...surf, sea and sun, what could go wrong?
1. Vacation

Ground Zero

_Elysium, 2176_

Elysium is one of the best places in the galaxy for a vacation, Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard agreed wholeheartedly.

The N7 operative was in full relaxation mode. Swimming trunks, cold beverage, lounge chair by the water, existence could not get any more laid back. Nearby, a mini-band performed, not the same one he'd performed with on a mission a few months back. That band had gone on its way, having served its purpose, and more importantly, gotten its fee plus hazard pay.

A few feet beyond Shepard, a salarian was handily defeating another human in a friendly swimming match. Shepard had watched the two competing back and forth all day, with predictable results. Whenever the match was strength, the human won. Whenever the competition became more athletic, the salarian won. It was close sometimes, human endurance barely defeating salarian flexibility (and stride length) in a 5k, but it seemed the two never stopped.

Which was driving Shepard crazy.

_If I didn't know any better, I'd say Captain Anderson is trying to kill me,_ he thought for what felt like the hundredth time.

He called up the message, checking it again.

_Shepard,_ it read, _I've managed to get you a full month off_. _You deserve it, after that business on Shanxi. However, as with everything, there's a catch. According to the medical department, you haven't taken a full week off in three years; they tend to frown on that kind of thing. So, your first two weeks will have a requirement: do nothing. By the time you receive this, you should be on Elysium, and will probably be missing your rifle;_ Shepard had actually started missing his Volkov VIII as soon as he'd loaded it into baggage, but he wasn't going to contradict a superior officer. _So no target practice, no heavy workouts, and no leaving the resort. If you do (and I'll know), you're headed to a remedial diplomacy course with the hanar._

_Best wishes,_

_Captain Anderson_

So, Shepard relaxed, and watched. Occasionally, thoughts of various ways he could send a nasty virus to the good captains' omni-tool crossed his mind. Something that made all audio effects sound like polka music.

He sighed and got up. A nearby waiter instantly took his nearly-full glass and proffered a new one. Shepard waved his hand and the waiter faded back, almost as if he'd had stealth training.

Shepard would never admit it, but he was an impressive sight. He was bronzed from nearly two weeks of sunshine, and his enforced rest had allowed a significant amount of definition shape his physique. By now he'd grown used to ignoring the people staring at the scars … you didn't reach his position without sacrificing a pound of flesh.

He hadn't counted on being _popular_ though. On Mindoir he'd been the quiet one, ready to help but with a reserve. Here, to his dismay, he was attractive and _available_ … whatever that meant.

The attention had led to an unexpected mobility problem. _If I go through the hall, I'll get mobbed. If I slip through the back, I'll owe them a favor… blast._

So with the same techniques he used on the battlefield Shepard managed to reach his private room, unlisted of course. _This is the only fun part of this vacation, blending in with the populace._He'd move a towel over his left shoulder, then cover his head as if he were drying his hair. A little sidestep, checking his reflection in a window changed his profile when a gaggle of people approached. A fake sneeze, two stumbles and a mildly bewildered expression later, and he was back in his room. Well, rooms. Against his wishes, he'd been given more of a suite than a room.

Shepard shook his head slightly, still in awe over the sheer opulence of the resort. He had access to a kitchen (in case he ever felt like cooking), a bedroom (with an extra-large nano-fiber massage mattress), and a living room (more chairs than a dairy herd had legs). _I bet Mom and Dad never thought I'd be living in the lap of luxury … the backyard maybe, but not the lap._

The screen on the wall activated itself when Shepard walked into the room. It was automatically set to the local weather station, a habit he'd grown up with_. Better to know what the weather will bring first, then make plans._

That evening, he decided to make his own supper. There had been many invitations, of course, _How in the world did my name get out?_ but Andersons order "to stay inside the resort" had saved him. That hadn't stopped some foolhardy individuals from scouring the outside area (the room was an inside one, thankfully) with the local paparazzi, but the hotel staff were used to it. Apparently, this was indeed a high-level resort; non-human celebrities showed up on a semi-frequent basis.

A buzzing tone reached Shepards ears. His omni-tool was going off, a call incoming.

Shepard put down the knife he was using and flicked on the receptor. Karls' face appeared, grainy in texture.

_"Shepard! Thank God I've got you! I'm on assignment, can't talk … have to warn you … pirate attack … jamming ship … Elysium under att—."_

The signal faded in and out. That was very odd. The resort was careful to reserve a large amount of bandwidth for its clients, no one had higher clearance except the military, the Council and Spectres. So…unless there was another DOS gamer convention ….

Before that thought finished Shepard found himself at his closet, donning his best gear_. No armor or weapons, blast Anderson!_ But he had to warn the officials. Without armor.

Quick-dressing was a hobby at which any serviceman quickly became adept. Within thirty seconds Shepard had a decent pair of slacks, a pair of hiking shoes and a sleeveless muscle shirt, dog tags dangling outside. He stopped another second and tried putting through a call to Alliance command; N7 graduates had that privilege after all. The result had him grimace.

Faster than before, Shepard jogged down the hall to the stairs; elevators were too slow. He put in a call to the local authorities and began working up the ranks. This could get ugly.

* * *

~o~O~o~

_0200 hours_

"There hasn't been any problem reported to me, it's probably just a solar flare on the Primary Mass Relay to Sidon. You'll get your call in a few minutes I'm sure."

Shepard was in the office of the highest authority available at night, the governors second in command. He was a short fellow, balding with traces of worry lines beginning by his eyes.

"Why haven't you received any priority messages then? Why is the entire system _blank_ for incoming traffic?' Shepard demanded. He felt underdressed for the occasion, no armor and no uniform, but this was _important_.

The major domo had a self-satisfied look on his face. "Just because we're the largest colony in the Verge doesn't mean we get priority messages all the time. We're having a quiet round, that's all. The screens went blank only a few minutes ago anyway, so why worry?"

Shepard let the other man's words roll around his head a minute. Then he stood and leaned both hands on the desk. "Then you are a fool." He growled. "I told you I tried to contact Alliance Command. I _am_ military, you clueless dolt! More than that, I am an N7 operative, rated at the highest levels of our military's elite. When I send an emergency message, that means an **Emergency is Occuring**!" He roared the last word out with enough venom to startle the cringing second-in-command.

"But you knew. You knew far more than you just told me."

The man's eyes grew wide.

"You _knew_ the ladar was down, you _knew_ there was a problem with the communications. You knew it before I came in, and _I_ knew exactly when it happened. That means you knew _before_ it happened. You had _warning_."

The major domo moved his hand slightly under the desk. Shepard had a half-second to react before two batarians burst out of a side door bearing something that was definitely not a house-warming gift.

Shepard had a split-second to think All N7 candidates had to take a course on tactics, even the ancient writings. According to General Von Clausewitz's _On War_ (written during the 1800s), one of the advantages for being the defending party was that an attacking party had to adjust to the terrain constantly. The defender had a static area, and could react faster, if prepared.

Shepard used that principle to shoulder-charge the nearer batarian before the four-eyed freak could focus. He hit with a satisfying crunching sound, forcing a pained gasp from the target. The other batarian was twisting, aiming his shotgun at Shepard, but was too late to beat his comrades pistol, still in his grip but under Shepards control, firing.

Shepard freed the pistol and carefully double tapped both of the batarians. Then he walked over to the desk, spun a chair around and sat, facing the shaking politician.

"Do you know earth history?" Shepard asked. Without waiting for a response he continued. "During the early stages of World War Two, the British had an idea. They couldn't _directly_ aid their allies with armies, they weren't ready for war. So they trained an elite force of _commandos_. They were ordinary people, asked to do extraordinary things. But before they were able to do them, they had to sit through a questionnaire session. I'll ask you one of their questions."

"Can you walk up behind a man, stab a knife into his back, _and_ _twist it?_"

The managers breathing grew faster.

Shepard twirled a knife he'd liberated from one of the corpses. "It's an interesting question because an honest reply can tell you so very much about the subject. On the one hand, it could reveal a vicious killer, on the other, it could mean someone is incapable of making the hard choice at the right time."

The blade spun hypnotically.

"So what I see here, is someone who knew ahead of time about the jamming, and did nothing. This person also had batarians ready to kill on his command. And we're in the Skyllian Verge."

More silence. Then ….

"You can't prove anything." The mans confidence was coming back, Shepard could see it in his eyes.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The manager nodded emphatically his breathing slowing. "You came here looking for help. No one can prove those brutes were here under my command."

Shepard let the knife twirl a few more times before flicking it into the solid oak desk. "Maybe I found the governors body."

The manager laughed. "Don't try that on me. I made sure the governor is just sleeping off a very _happy_ evening."

"Arranged by you." Shepards eyes narrowed. "Clever."

'Yeah, too clever to get done in by letting you trick a confession out of me. I've had an emp block on this room since you came in."

Shepard nodded approvingly. "Yet, as the saying goes, 'you might be so sharp you cut yourself.'" He leaned over the desk, making sure he had his most intimidating grin, to whisper: "Nobody stabs me in the back, got it?"

The other man dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Look, I know you Alliance military types. So long as you get your funding you don't care what goes on out in the colonies. How about we cut a deal?"

If the businessman had been paying attention, he would have seen Shepards' face flicker between outrage and amusement. "Let's say I'm willing to listen."

The second-in-command settled in a comfortable position. "I'll give you a cut of the profits, and an FTL capable shuttle offworld before the slaver get here. You could do some serious harm to the merchandise, and I don't want to see that happen."

Shepard gave the man one long stare. "You know something else about that story I told? I've done it. I've gone cold enough to sneak up on a man and twist a knife in his back. And you know what? He was a slaver."

His prey sagged a little.

Shepard raised his voice, "Officers, you may come in now."

Two uniformed men entered through the same door Shepard had a few minutes ago, opposite of the batarians. They had expressions of disgust on their faces, somewhat akin to as if they'd discovered a small disease-ridden rodent in their bed. "We heard everything sir. You want us to put him under arrest?"

Shepard weighed the pistol in his hand casually. "As a military officer, I am not allowed to give orders to civilians, except under martial law. However, I _suggest_ you take this scum and lock him in a secure location…" a grin of pure malice came over his face, "at the city walls. If he survives what comes next, he goes on trial."

One of the officers had a similar look of malicious pleasure on his face. "Understood sir. And sir? I had relatives on Mindoir."

Any emotion Shepard had been feeling drained. He gave the officer a steady salute, from one professional to another. "At your discretion, officers."

* * *

~o~O~o~

_0600 hours_

"What kind of dogs do we have in the city?" Shepard asked.

The question seemed to throw off the police chief, Malcolm Harvey. "Wha-at? Dogs? We don't have time to get attack dogs, sir?"

"Not just attack dogs," Shepard explained. "I want all the dogs we can get. They all have a better sense of smell than you or I do, and they can't be shut down by emp's. Get as many dogs on the perimeter as possible, and _watch_ them for any sign of odd behavior."

Shepard turned before the police chief could acknowledge the order. "Do we have any word from Admiral Grissom?"

A gloomy head shook. "We don't have communication out to his place, and he's too far to reach in time, even with a shuttle."

"Too bad. We could have used him here. Never mind, what's the status on communications?"

A fresh faced youngster sat up, smiling, "That would be me; Stella, Elysium Information News Net. We still don't have outgoing messages, but we do have one incoming message for you!"

Shepard pushed outside the knot of people he'd become surrounded by, "Everyone, keep going. Get weapons from that Haribon warehouse and check on those gunships. We have less than seven hours before those monsters get here and I want a warm welcome ready for 'em!"

The young woman held out an omni-tool when he got beyond the edge of the crowd. An unknown officers face faded in and out of coherence_. "Lieutenant-Commander … this … directly from … are hereby ordered to fall back … too few N7s … will lead counterattack … sending alert ASAP, but you nee …."_ The rest of the message was drowned out by static.

Shepard glanced up. The light was poor at this hour, but he could tell that the young lady had a look of trepidation in her eyes. The nearest eavesdroppers had the same expression. The best trained man on the planet, their best chance for survival, had just been ordered to abandon them.

Shepard winked at the youngster, then caught himself. _Youngster? She's gotta be 18 if she's a day. When did I get so old?_ Then out loud, "I'm sorry the message was so garbled, ma'am. I'm sure you did the best you could. At least we know there's reinforcements on the way."

The wave of relief was almost palpable, and that was just from the people next to him. Shepard knew the story would get around and grow in the telling. He disliked using himself as a role-model, but right now the people needed a morale booster.

"All right, now where's that fertilizer? I'm going to show you how to make an improvised Bouncing Betty. They're illegal, but hey, so are slave grabs."

* * *

~o~O~o~

Salem, Elysium

The colony had been designed as a single central location, unlike other colonies. This one had grown so fast in its early development that decentralization wasn't even considered until after it was too late. By then, everyone wanted to be near the popular commercial sections, and enough trade had flowed to make a single megacity feasible. Fortunately, it had been a requirement that all colonies in the Verge be equipped with defensive walls, akin to those used by the Romans in ages past. After all, not all predators on new colonies had two legs.

Shepard had managed to hack into the reports, and could see that farmers outside the city were hurrying as fast as they could to bring their flocks and harvests under cover, if they had already harvested. They would never have made it without a detachment of Kodiak shuttles sent to expedite their retreat. Those that couldn't, or wouldn't, make it to the city abandoned their homes, taking only the essential supplies to secure bunkers, plus whatever extras they could bring along. Animals and crops could be recovered, lives couldn't.

A surprisingly large cache of A-61 Mantis gunships were found stored in a Cord-Hislop Aerospace warehouse. What they were doing there wasn't included in the records, but Shepard "suggested" they be confiscated and refurbished. It was to his great fortune that a few local salarian were exceptionally skilled at repairing military grade hardware, and that many of the asari had combat-grade biotics. Some of the lesser skilled asari took charge of inner-city organization, what they lacked in combat they more than made up in centuries of experience. Part of the non-human population also consisted of turians, fortunately. All turians had at least the minimal in combat training and most had military experience. Even thouth Elysium was a human colony, all of the non-humans considered it their home as well, or at least an investment worth defending.

The security already in place was the greatest help however. The personnel were trained for minor attacks, and with a little care and direction from the few professionals present, they would do well in this situation. The local police forces were already trained in the usage of the defense cannon in place, which was fantastic. The cannons were hardwired to shielded power sources, and could deter gunship assaults and shuttle drops. However, Shepard privately thought it unlikely that the slavers would try something so destructive, they wanted soft easy salvage.

Shepard had put his training and experience to good use, although he'd never thought to be defending something as large as a whole colony. _Thousands_ of volunteers had come up simply because of his reputation. _Hundreds of thousands_ were following his suggestions, and in turn commanding _millions_ more, making this the largest force he'd ever commanded ... advised …. He didn't tell them that, however, pretending as if the whole event had been nothing more than a minor, yet moving, footnote in his career.

One interesting find had been an Alliance arms depot. Shepard had been able to rearm himself in the best the Alliance had to offer, and had armed the best of the volunteers in similar hardware. An old Turian had volunteered to oversee calibrating their weapons and Shepard had let him, despite his misgivings. The aged Turian had worked so fast and accurately however, that Shepard silently resolved to never stop a Turian from working on weapons. It seemed to be an innate trait, they just _loved_ playing with guns.

"Sir? Sir!"

Shepard turned to the latest interruption. "Yes? What is it?"

A young man in a camouflage print outfit saluted … sort of …. "Joseph Einrich, Elysium militia, 1st platoon, presenting the compliments of Captain Fayn Meyca. We're ready to deploy, sir."

Mentally, Shepard slapped himself. How could he have forgotten about militias? Mindoir had a militia of its own after all. It hadn't done much good back in the attack Shepard had lived through, but it had ensured far fewer slavers had returned to their ships. The last he'd heard, what militia members had managed to group together had killed something like a 5:1 ratio.

"What kind of numbers do you have, and may I speak with Captain Meyca?" he asked.

The young man gave another awkward salute. "I'll tell the Captain you want to see him as soon as possible, he can answer your questions." He at least had the decency to wait for Shepards return salute before running.

Immediately after that, an asari accosted Shepard. "Lieutenant?"

"Lieutenant-Commander, actually." He corrected politely. "What can I do for you, Ma'am?"

The asari looked…older than most of the asari he ran into. A _matron_ was it? She didn't look pudgy, whatever the name. "Shayna Y'nara, of Thessia. I have three centuries of commando experience, and three daughters here in Elysium nearly as skilled as I. Tell me what I can do."

Shepard stopped a moment. Asari commandos were few and far between, but each one carried enough expertise for a full squad. That made him think about judgment, and who could be in charge … "How good a shot are you? As a sniper I mean?"

The asari lifted her chin regally, "I was a sniper for the Armali Commandoes in my youth. I used the M-72 for preference."

"I'll see what can be found. Right now, can you find a few vantage points? I want you to direct the snipers if you would be so kind."

The word "smile," would have been far too genteel a word for the look on the asaris' face. A more accurate description would involve word like "satisfied, blood-thirsty grin of a shark."

"It would be my pleasure." She curtseyed, withdrawing with the grace of someone much younger. A trio of much younger asari scattered as she approached, gazing at the heights intently.

* * *

~o~O~o~

_0800 hours_

Shepard managed to find several drivers amongst the populace for the half-dozen Makos they'd managed to scrounge. Most of the volunteers were veterans from the First Contact War, eager to lend their expertise.

They soon had vehicles rumbling in the commons. Each six-wheeled tank made the earth shake as they moved, heartening the populace beyond the immediate observers. That was always part of the game, boost the morale of the populace while diminishing the enemy's.

Captain Meyca, a salarian, caught Shepard at the gate. The green-tinged salarian watched Shepard frantically trying to coordinate the data on his omni-tool before catching his attention. "Lieutenant-Commander. Good to meet you, has martial law been declared?"

Shepard looked up, "Um, while that is a slightly odd question, the governor is unconscious. His lieutenant drugged him just before the scramblers started up."

The captain held up his own omni-tool. "I have a backup plan here, signed by the governor, to establish martial law if slavers attacked. However, I think the plan was never designed for an invasion quite as big as this one."

Shepard took the document, looking puzzled. "How did you get that through the politics? I thought you were in charge of the militia?"

Meyca held up another document. "It's the Senate, actually. The plan was created some years ago, and given the authority of the governor about two months after that. PR move mostly. However, I just came from the Congress building, and both the Senate and the House agree you have the best qualifications for getting us out of this mess."

Shepard's omni-tool flared, receiving a data burst. He examined the information, steadily approaching disbelief. "You're giving that … to me?"

Captain Meyca saluted crisply. "You now have the entire colony at your disposal, sir. Also, a technical upgrade for your omni-tool. It will help coordinate all available data for you. Orders?"

It took five seconds for Shepard to absorb the news. Before, he'd been leading by example, by giving suggestions on defense. Now … he could order whatever he wanted … to _millions_ of inhabitants.

"Your messenger, he's an engineer, right?" he asked.

"Yes, but he also has experience in technical tactical hacking." The captain responded.

Shepard shook his head sharply. "I want him to set up every loudspeaker, every subwoofer, and every DJ on and above the walls. Facing outwards"

"What?"

"Set them up with enough power to rattle the walls of Mr. Grissom himself, but keep the noise directed over the defenders."

No one could ever say salarians were stupid. He caught on quickly. "Right. Confusion."

"To a certain extent. I could use other things up there, but all we need to do is hold out for reinforcements. The rest of your men need to go outside the walls, dig in, and fight guerrilla warfare. Retreat to the walls when you can, probably in three-man squads. We don't have time for larger groups."

A harsh wailing broke overhead, followed by the shuddering booms of spacecraft entering atmosphere. Contrails from condensed moisture appeared far overhead.

"Belay that last," Shepard gestured skywards. "We're too late, they must have pushed up their timetable. Arm up and get to the walls, but stay under cover. Select your best scouts and harass the slavers if you can."

The activity in the city grew more frantic, people scurrying around like ants with their nest kicked. The Makos rumbled to covered sheds, mechanics moving in to work.

* * *

~o~O~o~

_0820 hours_

'Lieutenant-Commander! Sir!"

Civilians scattered to the sides of the road, clearing the path for a two-wheeled conveyance purring up the center. The civilian on board wore the colors of a courier service, waving at Shepard.

Shepard turned back. "Yes? I'm a little busy."

"We got two krogan that won't let us open a door in the armory, over in the Cord-Hislop main office."

Shepard suddenly became interested. "Krogan? Here?"

The courier patted the back of his seat. "Hop on, I'll take you there."

"Um … all right."

The ride back was fast, not as fast as shuttle perhaps, but it _felt_faster. Maybe it had something to do with how close the ground was, or how unprotected the rider was in his chair. At any rate, the distance was short. The Cord-Hislop building was at the center of town and had one of the highest skyscrapers on Elysium.

Inside, two oversized krogan glowered at the militia volunteers present. Both sides carried their weapons with obvious aggression.

Shepard didn't bother trying to diffuse the tension. One of the militia members was an asari, diplomacy obviously wasn't working.

"What the h*** is going on here?" Shepard bellowed. The krogan jerked to face him, aiming automatically at the loudest target.

Shepard knew he couldn't even _smell_ of fear, krogan were the ultimate in intimidation tactics. However, only a few realized krogan had brains to match their brawn. He took angry steps closer, focusing on the nearer of the two lizard-skinned aliens.

"What do you mean hiding in here when there's slavers to kill? Did you two forget how to fight?"

These krogan were smarter than the average meatshields. Both cocked their shotguns, growling. The larger one took the role of spokesman. "We don't answer to you, human. We have our orders. No one gets through this door, no matter what."

That stymied Shepard for a second; but then he saw the militia slightly raising their weapons. The militia may have been trained, but the krogan had centuries of warfare experience, plus their own natural abilities.

Taking two long steps, Shepard moved between the krogan, seizing a shotgun by the barrel. It was the work of a moment to wrest control from the surprised alien. Shepard pointed the gun upwards and triggered a blast, startling them further. Off balance opponents were easier to control.

"You couldn't protect a chunk of eezo from a quarian!" he roared in his best sergeant voice. "I'm in charge of this colony, not you, not your boss, and definitely not any coward of a manager!"

The larger, still armed, krogan growled louder and deeper. "We don't—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Shepard reared back, pulling his shoulders down, and slammed his helmet into the krogan's head-plate.

"I didn't ask for excuses! I told you to get out there! Move your a**** or I'll fill them with lead!"

Grumbling, the two krogan stumped out the doors. The larger one paused, spinning a slit-pupil to focus on Shepard. "You got a quad, human. More than our boss anyway."

Shepard smiled politely. "Report to Captain Meyca, he'll show you the best spot for fighting."

One of the militiamen had opened the formerly blocked door. "Lieutenant!"

Shepard stepped through the opening … and … and … stopped. He just … stopped.

Inside lay weapons he hadn't seen outside the Alliance prototype shops. Especially … an _M-89 Prototype_ _Widowmaker_, similar to the one he'd once used back in boot camp. _Three_ of them. Plus a series of grenade launchers, of Terminus systems origins if he was correct. Rocket launchers. Crates of grenades.

"Sir …"

An entire stack of armor modifications; eyepieces. Greave additions. Ablative solutions in tightly packed containers.

"Sir?"

The storage room went farther back than it looked. Nearer to the back were more crates. Omni-gel, experimental med-gel. Omni-tool upgrades, was that a Savant X?

"Sir!"

Shepard snapped out of it.

"Find Shayna Y'Nara, get her two of those," he pointed at the long-range death dealers. "Get the grenades to the distribution center, and the heavy weapons over to the bunker behind the third line next to the shuttle dock. If we need them, we can send a runner out to the front lines. The rest of this stuff goes to the same place, tell the volunteers to relieve Captain Meyca's men so he can rearm."

He picked up the third M-89 before it was taken. "And this … goes with me."

* * *

~o~O~o~

_0900 hours_

_"I am Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard, Grade Seven N7 graduate. I have been given the honor of organizing the defenses of Elysium."_

Elysium had its own media system. Interstellar traffic may have been blocked, but there were still plenty of reporters. Ms Shayn had suggested Shepard address the populace, give a face to the defensive force. Again, it would boost morale. Such an activity was _well_ out of Shepards comfort zone, but he had some experience being in the limelight.

_"As you know, all communication with the Alliance has been cut off. We managed to get a distress signal out, so we know help is on the way."_ Not strictly true, but in essence correct.

_"We don't know just who is out there, or why they're attacking. But this is the Skyllian Verge, and the Batrians have been throwing their weight around everywhere else in the system. Whoever it is, I'm not going to risk the safety of the colony by assuming nothing is coming."_

One of the camera operators gave him a thumbs up.

_"What I can tell you is this: I've fought pirates, batarians, slavers and more. Some of my assignments have yet to be declassified. What I__can__tell you is this: Slavers and pirates are weak. Pathetic. They prey on the helpless and try to attack by surprise. A good honest fight scares them."_

Shepard switched to Confident Smile #2 (I-Know-Something-You-Don't-Know), and gestured at the scenery. The camera operators caught on, following the gesture. Makos shuddered in a basso thunder, in conveniently photogenic poses. Rows of recently re-armed militia stood in Parade Rest … at least the Turians were.

_"These are the defenders of Elysium. They stand ready to fight both for your survival, and their own. Thousands more are already waiting for the enemy—"_

The camera cut out to a drone, hovering over the city wall. Armed defenders peeked over the wall. One or two waved at the camera … _oh for Pete's sake_ … one had a _HI MOM!_ sign ….

_"They know their jobs. Now I'll tell you yours."_

Explosions started raising dust clouds in the distance. The Mantis gunships, doing their job then, good.

_"If you can shoot, get a gun and stay back. If you can't shoot, get under cover. If you can run, we need help at the medical shelters. There will be wounded men and women today, and_they_need_you_to help them stay alive. Simply running bandages will win this fight just as much as someone shooting on the front lines._"

The deep report of a sniper rifle echoed over the cameras. Up on a vantage point, an asari shifted back, waiting for her heatsink to cool.

_"Some of us may not make it through this battle. Record messages for your loved ones, but make it quick."_

Shepard took out the M-89 Widowmaker Prototype and unfolded it to its full length. _"The enemy wants to take everything we have, and ourselves as well. We'll show them what free citizens can do in a fair fight. See you on the line, I'll be out front."_

The reporters started shouting questions, but Shepard dismissed them sharply, running towards the wall. Cameras followed him as he ran … it was a cheap theatrical trick, but then, the colony needed every boost it could get. Especially morale. This would be ugly.

* * *

~o~O~o~

Out in the distance, the gunships launched the last of their payloads and headed back for re-arming. A pair of Kodiak shuttlecraft lifted off behind them, headed back to base. Shepards' new omnitool programs were registering enemy shuttlecraft landing well away from the colony's GUARDIAN cannon, offloading an army.

Shepard glanced through another report. Some of the slaver shuttlecraft had been damaged in the gunships' assault, which was forcing the opposing commander to delay his assault. His plan apparently required the full measure of his forces. Shepards delaying tactic would work for maybe another hour, but patience was never really high on the priority list for most pirates.

A dull throbbing lifted Shepards attention from his reports. He could see the shuttles carrying the guerrilla volunteers taking off … they carried a mix of turian and human veterans. He had to smile at that, _Less than thirty years after we were at each other's throats, we're going into battle together. Godspeed._

In their nests far above, the snipers took practice shots, marking distances with their rangefinders. Since the enemy was over ten kilometer away, the snipers didn't have to worry about being spotted. Yet.

Shepard jumped as an almighty crackling noise, then a booming tenor emanated from the sky.

_"Test, test … check, check, onetwothree check … check … check … are we good?"_

An engineer on the wall waved both her arms at a point farther back. Another burst of static blanketed the wall, and another, deeper voice bellowed across the entire city.

_"All right ladies and gentlemen … and slavers. Today we have, for your listening pleasure, a recent recording of the turian rock group:__Heavy Mettle.__We will be playing their latest album, entitled__Death Mettle,__an appropriate title if I ever saw one. For our winning pleasure, I give you both the first track on their album, and the order of the day:_" his voice deepened, becoming the threatening rumble of an angry god, "_Bring!__...__It!__…__On!"_

Around the perimeter, more speakers crackled to life, booming and whistling as they tuned up. A strange wailing screamed out the speakers, then quieted as they became more accurately aimed, over the heads of the defenders. Then, the music cut into play, projecting a wailing chaos of sound.

Shepard took his sniper rifle, squinting through the scope. Even from this distance he could discern armored figures, hauling themselves out of vehicles and taking cover.

The next wave of gunships buzzed overhead, headed for the assembling horde. Unfortunately, twin contrails from farther out indicated enemy combat craft.

Shepard keyed in the gunships frequency. "Stay back Mantis, we got another surprise ready for 'em. Keep under cover of the GUARDIAN batteries, and give 'em h*** when they get close."

Double clicks acknowledged his order, and the attack craft turned back.

It seemed that was only the start. A whistling noise caught everyone's attention. It came from the west side, nearer the invaders. The sound grew shriller, echoing louder like a demons whistle … followed by an enormous explosion that rocked the ground under Shepards feet.

Screams erupted behind Shepard; spinning, he saw what they'd seen. An enormous hole had been created near the base of one of the skyscrapers, pouring out smoke and debris.

"COVER!" he bellowed.

Multitudes of people scattered for shelter, screaming over the subwoofers.

Shepard sprinted for an overturned skycar, dialing up more frequencies.

"Why isn't that GUARDIAN tower online?" he shouted into the speaker.

A strained voice came back. _"Something's infected the system, sir. Some kind of override. Can't tell where it came from."_

Shepard covered the mouthpiece and groaned, "Well get it back online, we don't have all day!"

Another screaming sound pierced the air, accompanied by terrified cries from people on the ground. This time Shepard was able to see an old broken down shuttle skid sideways through the air, partially shot down by one of the gunships. Its direction was gone, but the damaged shuttle still managed to clip another tower.

The first tower was leaning over, its excellent construction preventing an all-out crash, but unable to prevent it from sagging into the rest of the surrounding structures. The latest suicide crash shook its framework, forcing it to twist towards the ground.

A hoarse human voice, probably from the spaceport, came over the radio_. "Gunships, 'ware kamikazes, probably VI pilots. Watch for covering fighters out thirty klicks, three o'clock high_!"

Shepard dialed the assistant he'd talked with for interstellar messages. "Stella, is that you?"

A panicked voice gabbled on the other end, talking far too fast to make out.

"Calm down…calm down ma'am. It looks like most of the people are safe … yes, minimal casualties." Shepard wasn't sure where he got the buzzwords, but it seemed to work for the secretary.

"Ma'am, listen closely. I need you to start up all of the media antennas … yes … all of them. If you can, point them west, at full power. Blanket all the frequencies except the ones we're using, and the Alliance emergency frequency."

More fast-paced talking.

"Well yes it's an emergency. That's why I'm ordering it."

Shepard cut off her next transmission and shifted to Captain Meyca's channel. "Captain, are you there?"

The salarians voice came back strong. _"Still living, shifting infantry from east wall closer to center of the city. Next suicide craft probable target is the GUARDIAN tower. Status?"_

Shepard had to be amused at the un-intended pun, salarians spoke rapid-fire under fire.

"Status unchanged, invaders approaching. GUARDIAN tower locked, hacker working on it. Adjusting to compensate."

The men on the walls started opening up, assault rifles beginning their rhythmic chatter.

Shepard left his cover, bounding up an impromptu staircase. Peeking over the wall, he could see burn marks where shuttles had landed new troops during the suicide shuttles aftermath.

His omni-tool flashed incoming message. Stella was on the line.

_"Sir, I've established contact with every responding broadcast station on the planet, they're all coordinating to cancel as many frequencies as possible, and you have an incoming message, sir."_

"What? Who?" Shepard pulled his rifle into position.

A strong, calm voice came out of the omni-tool. _"This is the__SSV Agincourt, Captain speaking. I heard you could use some assistance?"_

Relief flooded through Shepard. "Captain, this is Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard, N7 Marine. It's good to hear your voice, sir."

The captain came back immediately, _"Same here, Lieutenant. It looked like no one was in charge down there until your assistant answered our signal. How can we assist?"_

Shepard risked a look over the wall. "What's your situation and disposition?"

_"We have near a thousand small vessels to our six frigates, and angry."_

More slavers, Shepard could see their eyes now. All four of them. "Protect the colony from orbital bombardment as you can, and if you would be so kind as to send some Tridents down to cover the GUARDIAN repairs, that'd be great."

_"Acknowledged, Shepard. Keep up your end, and we'll hold ours. Reinforcements are on their way."_

Shepard silently pumped his fist. A startled turian glanced over at him, then spread his mandibles in response. Both turned back to the task at hand, killing slavers.

* * *

**A/N: Hey, so this is a rewrite of my first attempt. Hopefully it is better organized; I've been incorporating advice from my beta Nightstride and the lovely Lady Aimee. Check out their fanfics, they are well worth a read!**

**Update: June 7, 2014; a little rewording, some ellipses trouble.**


	2. Battle

_SSV Agincourt_

Captain Penembert glared at the myriad vessels, hovering just out of his reach. His frigate had destroyed countless slaver transports. The wolf pack tactics of his task force ripped their way through the smaller vessels, shredding shields as if there were made of wet tissue paper.

_Whomever had planned the attack did it well,_ he thought bitterly. The 5th fleet was on its usual patrol, angling through the Relays in an amorphous loop. The attack had occurred _just_ as the fleet was scheduled to make the last outward loop on the farthest leg of its circuit. Random chance, and a homesick lieutenant, had brought the _SSV Agincourt_ and its escorts for a surprise visit.

One of the displays flickered, changing the numbers slightly. Penemberts' eyebrows shot up, _They did what?_ He hit the command channel. "That freighter just launched a round at Elysium! I don't care if it's the size of a grain of rice, shoot it down!"

On the _Agincourt, _Navigator Pressly hurried to comply, formulating a probability cone and feeding it to the VI controlled GUARDIAN laser batteries. Frigates were designed for this kind of work, screening larger vessels from nearly invisible attacks. A frigate, to the mass of civilian-design freighters, was like a peregrine falcon to a sparrow. Under his fingers, the target blinked, then vanished within a circling blue ring.

"Sir, we got it!" he shouted back at the captain.

The captain gave a victorious whoop. "That puts us ahead of the _Hastings_, what's our kill count?"

Pressly shook his head. "The _Hastings_, the _Coral Sea_, and the _Iwo Jima_ have been using our targeting data. I can't tell how much damage we've done without them."

A growl emanated from the Chair. "How about total damages?"

The navigator checked his board. "Looks like we've lost only minor functionality on our side, but destroyed or crippled over 150 enemy ships, sir. Mostly modified freighters and transports."

The captain slapped the younger mans' back approvingly. "Tag 'em and bag 'em, Pressly. Get back to it."

Pressly bent over his work, constructing another firing solution. The few ships present were the only shield between Elysium and a pirate-directed Armageddon. Whatever was happening on the ground, he could alleviate that much at least.

* * *

Elysium

Shepard fired, ducked and fired again. The slavers had approached the city walls within an hour and were trying to breach it.

Artillery behind Shepard belched flame, periodically hurtling projectiles overhead. When they impacted the ground vibrated under everyone's feet.

The fight had not been bloodless. Another pair of shuttles had hurtled into civilian areas, killing dozens. Civilians fought fire almost as much as slavers at this point, but no one stopped.

There was a question though, it had been bothering Shepard all night. _Why are the slavers so organized at all?_ General mercenary work required cooperation of course, but slave raiders didn't inherently cooperate. More people involved meant profits were spread around more people. The smaller the crew, the bigger the payoff, even if the payoff was less certain. _Why are they so organized, even for a prize like Elysium_?

A squint poked his head out from behind a crashed skycar, sighting an assault rifle at the wall. Shepard took a breath, held it and twitched his index finger. The round crushed the batarians rifle on its way through his heart. Shepard sighed, and started looking for another target.

Shepards' particular section of wall had held off the slavers handily, so he'd sent defenders to other segments less ably defended. According to the reading he'd done prior to arriving on Elysium, the walls were durable, constructed of some of the best materials known to Alliance space. Of course, that was with the understanding that nothing like a shuttle or heavy assault vehicle tried a high-speed impact.

Just out of Shepards range, another slaver fell, courtesy of Shayna's daughters. They were focusing wherever the fighting was hottest, or when they had an easy shot. He had to approve, his father would be proud of them. If they survived, he would need to track them down and thank them for their service … and congratulate their mother for raising them to be so capable.

Almost as if in mockery of his thoughts, a turian Shepard had been fighting alongside for the past hour fell, part of his shoulder missing. Shepard suppressed an unaccustomed urge to panic, pushing it down for later. The fallen soldier needed a professional, not a professional basket case.

"Medic!" Shepard called out.

A pair of humans raced from a shelter further back with a stretcher. Carefully they administered a dextro-based analgesic and lifted the turian onto the pallet.

"Sir … I can still fight …." the turian feebly tried to push himself back towards the wall as the sedative kicked in. Shepard knelt, grasping the alien three-finger hand. "You've done enough. Rest easy brother, we'll take it from here."

The turian's mandible twitched as he stared at Shepard, appraising his sincerity. Then they flared in a turian grin, and he tried to salute with his off hand. Shepard returned the gesture with as much respect, holding it until the stretcher bearers gently carried the soldier away.

Then he resumed his vigil, scanning both his HUD and the landscape, looking for the sniper that had done this. His search was interrupted by the whistling crump of a GUARDIAN tower.

_"Sir!"_ his comm went off. _"We got the virus out, the towers are back online!"_

An explosion lit the evening sky like a second sun, well outside the city walls. The tower rotated like an ancient titan, burning lasers into the twilight sky. Even the supersonic shuttles were intercepted long before they reached their designated targets.

A woman standing near Shepard started laughing hysterically at the carnage. "Get 'em! Shoot 'em! Don't leave any of 'em alive!"

Concerned, Shepard took another quick survey, then made his way over to her. "Ma'am, do you need some medical attention?"

The woman in question laughed harder. "They're dead … all dead … can't help them now …."

For an instant, Shepard saw burning prefabs, a little girl screaming for her daddy. _There's nothing we can do,_ a strong voice said, _get her out of here._ He had to shake his head, clearing the memory. Then he turned his attention back to the woman … she was still screaming curses at the batarians … and clenching a locket in one hand so hard it bled.

Shepard carefully slipped his hand onto her pistol. "Maybe you should check if the medics have everything they need for now."

She grimaced. "They wanted to give me some kind of pills. I told them I had to fight … had to … had to …" her face crumpled. Shepard recognized the pain in her eyes, and was ready to catch her as she fell.

"Medic!" he called again.

Even as the volunteer helpers ran up, an ungodly shriek cut through the air. _Will the madness never end?_

Shepard looked up, tracking a shuttle that had one of its engines damaged. It crossed the city in an eye blink, missing all of the major towers, but hitting the far wall. Strong as it was, the wall had never been designed to withstand such an impact, let alone from the inside. A gaping hole fifty feet wide tore loose like a used MRE wrapper. Just like that, a stable situation reversed into chaos.

There was a distinct pause, then a roar of victory from outside the city. Howling snarls grew louder as trained varren loped through the gap, followed by infantry. They were met by a mad barking as the dogs either fled the attackers or charged at the invaders.

Shepard leapt off his position, sprinting towards the hole. The two krogan from the corporate armory were already half-way there, shotguns coughing storms of metal to meet the slavers. The younger krogan managed to grab one of the varren by the jaw, and hurled it overhand at the breach. The elder shifted aim slightly, hitting the lizard-dog, then shifted his fire back at the slavers.

"All available backup, south wall!" Shepard yelled into his comm, "Get me whatever you can, however you can! Seal the breach!"

Stella's voice came over the channel_. "We have reinforcements shuttling down from the frigates, where do you want them?"_

"Put 'em down behind our line, tell them to come in hot!"

It was blind scrimmage for an interminable amount of time. Shepard didn't have time to use the rifle, his pistol had a higher rate of fire, and he could incorporate as many tech attacks as humanly possible. One overload took out a turian slaver's shields, two shots took his life. The krogan guarding his flank were as much a weapon as the guns they carried. Their weight and experience utterly crushed the unwary and maimed the careful.

"Bouncing Betties are coming online!" someone shouted.

Shepard plunged for the ground, gasping for air. A deceptively innocent series of pneumatic plinking echoed throughout the battlefield. Most of the Elysium defenders flattened themselves, covering their heads. Some, of course were unable, or forgot.

Spheres about three inches in diameter soared upwards, making a slight whistling noise as they flew. About two meters off the ground, they exploded, sending white-hot shrapnel in all directions _just_ about head height. Screams of pain erupted from those standing. The uglier sounds would give Shepard nightmares for years to come.

Shepard rose to his feet, pulling his knife in his off hand, pistol in the other. Around him was … nothing. Then his ears caught up, high-powered assault rifles? There were a limited number of those in Elysium … unless there was yet another cache in that Haribon warehouse?

An Alliance Marine in full armor strode confidently past Shepard. His arms held a large assault rifle steady, fresh lead spitting into the fight. Another marine, a giant of a man, grabbed Shepard by the shoulder.

"Arvid?"

The helmet slid open, revealing the cheerful face of his Russian colleague. "You didn't think ve'd leave you on your own, did you?"

Shepard slapped his friends arm weakly. "I just didn't want to share all the fun!"

Arvid raised his own assault rifle one handed and let off a burst. "It took a vhile to clear enough room topside, but I finally collected enough marines. Vhat a party, eh?"

"Well you can certainly lend a hand!" Shepard pointed over to the makeshift repair shops. "We have a few Makos over there, and some gunships ready to head out. Will you take charge of that?"

Arvid whistled sharply, making a few gestures. "Zhat vill make this much easier."

Marines pulled from the breach, pelting for the sheds. A few climbed over a lower retaining wall, headed for the gunships.

"How many did you bring?" Shepard asked.

"Oh, only avound two, three dozen. Four if you count me." Arvid smirked at Shepard, "Zhen again, I am vorth a platoon all by my lonesome. Vhy don't you go inside and get a glass of warm milk? Old people need to take care of zemselves you know."

Shepard laughed for the first time in what felt like _forever_. It was good to have someone he could depend upon.

The deep rumble of an armored vehicle revved, sounding more like the wrath of a monster than a tank. More engines ignited, like a pack of carnivores readying themselves for the hunt. From the depths of the garage, twin headlights blinked on, just before the Makos rolled out, pausing while marines scrambled aboard.

Behind the protective enfilade, Shepard could hear the gunship engines whine to a higher pitch. Blinking lights on black shadows began appearing against the darkening sky, like vengeful ghosts. The music still being played shifted to a more ominous work, in the basso range with percussion thudding. Shepard hadn't planned it that way, but the end result was excellent.

Arvid turned to Shepard. "You vant in on this?" he asked.

Shepard grabbed his rifle and jogged towards the nearest Mako. "Just try and stop me."

* * *

Elysium, Beyond Salem walls

The Mako convoy roared through the recently cleared opening, flattening a few of the invaders in the process. The militia closed ranks behind the tanks, working to shift rubble across the gap in a makeshift barrier.

Outside the walls lay a panoply of contrasts. Fields stretched across the horizon, grain waving with the fresh scent of ripe harvests in the wind. Ugly craters marred the fields' smooth lines with blackened soot and the scent of charred flesh. Farmhouses, abandoned in the flight for the city, had smashed doorways and pristine walls. Windows were smashed, broken glass clinging to the window frames like stalactites from a horror film. Fires burned everywhere, turning the twilight sky a sullen red. Harvest season had just begun and the fields were as dry as tinder. Scattered safety drones lay were they'd been shot, leaking hydraulics and extinguisher foam.

Of course, there were also the raiders.

The raiders had very little by the way of heavy vehicles, but they did have heavy weapons. Even with the powerful shields on the Mako, Shepard was forced to engage the thrusters on more than one occasion. Fortunately, rockets had a much higher heat-signature, giving him a split-second warning before one fired.

Shepard's omni-tool beeped, blinking new options. The opposition had barely scratched a single tank, which triggered a cost/benefit analysis function. He took in the information, evaluated it for weaknesses, and made a decision. "This is Shepard to all tanks in the field; separate and do as much damage as you can."

A different voice answered, flanged in a typically turian manner, _"Sir, are you certain? Standard protocol requires—"_

"This _isn't_ a standard situation," Shepard said firmly, "Now get out there and hit them hard!"

While giving the order, he almost failed to see the HUDs' warning icon. Then he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, and turned the control over … hard. The wheels spun in reverse, twisting the tank sideways.

A salarian, two humans and a batarian stepped directly in the Shepards' line of sight. They held a small group of children, each maybe ten years old. What turned Shepards blood to ice however, was how the raiders were pointing their side-arms.

Shepard slammed on the emergency brake and vaulted through the exit hatch. A relief marine shuffled behind him into the drivers seat.

One of the humans brandished a pistol at a young girls' head. His smug attitude made Shepard want to apply violent actions to his person. "Hey there Alliance, keep calm and quiet," he waved the pistol slightly towards the tank. "Just tell everybody to get out of the tank. My buds and I are taking it off your hands."

The girl whimpered, tugging weakly at the grip on her hair. The man jerked back roughly, pressing her temple against the muzzle. "Don't you worry darlin'" the raider grinned at Shepard, "The good little soldier won't let you get hurt."

Shepard had a hard time controlling the boiling fury he felt. Externally, he probably looked calm, but inside … "What will you do with the kids?" he asked. He felt his pulse race, lungs demanding more air.

The batarian in the back snarled, "They come with us. Better a little profit over no profit. Either they live as slaves, or they don't live at—"

A small circle appeared in-between his top set of eyes, just as a gun went off.

Shepard's rage froze for a moment, his back went stiff with shock. Although it was a good shot, whomever had just killed the batarian had risked a child's life. A fraction of a second later, he wondered why the shooter had stopped … then Shepard realized _he_ was holding a pistol … and the HUD was showing a cooldown working to cool the weapon. _I did that? _Then, he saw a finger tightening.

His peripheral narrowed to a red haze; he could see only a few things clearly, but those targets were _very clear._ The gun in his hand roared fire, hitting both humans in the throat before spinning in place and smashing the salarians' shoulder. _Kill, kill, kill! _Blood thundered in his ears, blocking outside noise. The salarian started drawing a second gun with his other hand – but Shepard charged him, dropping his side arm, the better to savagely beat the slaver.

The children took immediate advantage of the situation and ran for the Mako. Arvid slid out the hatch, grabbing all of them in his powerful arms, simultaneously hugging and hauling them inside.

That left Shepard with the gasping slaver.

Shepard felt his fury coalesce into ice. Paradoxically there was also a warm sense of approval. He could see himself from outside his head, watching his hands shove the slaver over backwards and picking up his pistol … then pause. Most krogan allowed their decisions to be made by the fire in their veins; and they were still reaping what they'd sown a millennia ago. Humans could go with either emotion; but Shepard was an unusually cold case. One of the major points on his psych evaluation had recommended officers training because he could shut down emotional responses. Until it was needed, anyway.

_Screams echoed across the town center. The main Town Hall was on fire, someone was trying to put it out—_

He blinked, back in control. This was shot, between the eyes.

"Get back in, we'll keep going." Shepard heard the marine driving the Mako. Its engine rumbled hungrily.

He had to pause, thinking how to verbalize his logic. "No."

"Sir?"

Shepard straightened. "I am a Level 7 graduate of the N7 program, and a Lieutenant-Commander, currently in charge of the defense. This is an order: any marines with decent scouting skills are to go on foot, weapons free. The slavers are watching for the Makos and will either keep hiding, or try taking hostages again."

He noticed something he hadn't seen before … blood. And bodies…without armor. Some of the bodies were wearing torn clothing. Deep inside, his predatory instincts roared at this double affront, sending the rage deeper.

"Relay a message for me." Shepard's voice held an arctic chill, colder than bleak ice fields. "Tell the _Agincourt_ _'no mercy._' If they ask where I am, tell them there are some animals out here that need putting down. I'm going hunting."

Arvids voice came over the headpiece. _"I'll join you."_

Shepard shook his head. "No Arvid, guard the children, coordinate the gunships when the scouts get out here. And if any of those b******* show up, make them _suffer._"

There was a pause as Shepard sent an image of what he'd seen. _I don't want to do it, but this is something that has to be done._

_"Understood."_ Arvid couldn't voice what he thought, not with the children next to him. But his tone was as cold as Shepard's. Anyone who approached the Mako had better either be with the Alliance, or very, very lucky.

Gunships wheeled overhead, searchlights stabbing into the darkness. The ominous deep roar of the Makos grew louder and softer as they picked up civilians. Deeper explosions punctuated the darkness with bursts of lurid scenes of destruction … and dealt with slavers.

Shepard took it all in as he stalked his prey. This night reminded him of another night long since past. _I was_ _the victim then_,_ and in similar ways I am a victim now. But this time … I will do something about it._

His earpiece buzzed silently, updating every few minutes. The city was safe for now. The combination of GUARDIAN towers and accompanying Trident fighters from the Fleet had successfully repelled the latest aerial attack. This latest attack had involved larger ships. _That means either the slavers are growing desperate, or running short on expendable shuttles._ They must have planned on rifling through a shocked city by now, not continuing to engage in siege warfare.

The frustration this caused the slavers played right into Shepards' hands. Their quick assault had deteriorated almost beyond recovery. Already Shepard could hear shuttles whining in pre-flight checks, either preparing to carry disappointed passengers back to their fleet, or for another drop-hit style attack.

_Disorganized frustration. Emotion. Chaos. _All of the potential elements for sniping were present, except a definite target. Generally, a sniper was sent out either to destroy a specific target, or perform reconnaissance. Without either, the usual idea was to destroy as much as possible, as often as possible, adding as much chaos as possible. The incredible range of a sniper, combined with the stealth used, made this what was known as a _force multiplier_. One sniper could have a greater effect on the enemy than a dozen marines.

Shepard chuckled darkly, double checking his HUD. Before the advent of higher technology, snipers had to work in pairs; the rule had been NO ONE sniped alone. Now … it was just him, his gun, and his target.

_This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. _The old creed ran through Shepards mind. The trigger clicked, the muzzle boomed, and the target vanished.

_My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life._ Another target popped into view. Obviously an officer of some type, browbeating the more intelligent but lower ranking mooks to get into the open. Shepard used infrared mode to watch his head vanish in a fine dark-purple mist.

_My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me._ The mantra ran through Shepards thoughts as he ran crouched to another position. This one covered the approach to another farmhouse. One of the gunships' had been kind enough to give him a lift, and this spot still had living farmers.

_My rifle and I know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit ..._ This time a full vehicle was the target. It was about 700 meters away, within range, and obviously headed for the farmhouse. Whomever was in the farmhouse was obviously aware of the danger. Its lights were out, and a wild shot fired from one of the windows. _Pathetic, but brave._

Shepard breathed in, focusing on the engine block_. My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. _The old Grizzly rumbled closer, turret spinning to fire on the house._ Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. _A shell landed past the roof, an obvious intimidation tactic._ I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other._

The rifle spoke—once, twice. Shepard waited a few seconds as the rifle cooled, feeling his rage cool slightly with each shot. The Grizzly shuddered to a halt, then whined to a higher pitch. Figures tumbled out, running for their lives.

Shepard found them first. Each life he took served to assuage the fury freezing his heart. The Grizzly exploded, the fuel igniting mortar shells inside, causing a roaring explosion muted only a little by the distance.

_So be it, until victory is the Alliance's and there is no enemy, but peace!_

The farmhouse opened a crack, a hunting rifle extending out the crack. "Hello …? Is someone out there?"

Shepard resisted the nearly frantic urge to fade back and find more targets. These people needed help.

"Hello the house!" he called, safely out of sight.

The gun jerked. "Whoever you are, git offa my land!"

Shepard walked slowly into sight, rifle conspicuously folded on its mag-clamp. "My name is John Shepard. I'm with the Alliance."

The rifle pointed squarely at Shepards chest. "How do I know you're not some pirate pretendin'?"

Shepard jerked his thumb at the smoking Grizzly. "Pirates often shoot up their own valuable hardware, do they?"

The farmer considered that a moment. "Good point. But I'm protectin' more than just me'self, so your pardon if I don't just take your word."

A young voice piped up behind the farmer. "Are they gone Daddy? Did you get 'em?"

The farmer disappeared. "Git back under the table, whatch want to git your tomfool head blown off?"

"Sir?" Shepard called after him.

The farmers outline appeared behind the screen door. "Yap?"

"I can call in support, give you a ride to the city. It isn't safe out here for little ones."

The farmer sighed. "You're right about that, son. I got the neighbors kiddos in here, tried to get him to stay, but the damn fool wouldn't take my protection. I admire his pride, but sometimes a man's gotta eat a little humble pie, if only for his family."

Shepard gripped his rifle. "Which direction? I'll call a gunship and be there before you can say "knife."

The rifle extended out the door and pointed south. "Bout three kilometers thataway. Right where them heartless b******* landed. I figure he's either …" the man paused, remembering his audience … "either hidin' or runnin' as fast as he can thisaway."

"Wait …" he added as Shepard turned to run. The farmer cautiously stepped outside his door. When nothing took a shot at him, he took another step, then walked out to meet the soldier. He held out his hand.

"I reckon we owe you our lives. Tell Earl that Ted Kosin said he's as muleheaded as his tractor, but not as smart."

Shepard shook the farmers hand. "I'll do my best Mr. Kosin."

The farmer loped back to his door. "Call me Ted. Stop by for a spell, once this excitement is over. My wife makes the best preserves in the Verge."

Shepard waved and took off running. Three kilometers was no distance for a conditioned Alliance Marine. As he ran, a gunship landed behind him, and small bobbing lights confirmed the safety of at least one family. The sight warmed his heart … a boy wouldn't have to go without his father _this_ night.

The next farm was buried beneath rubble. Nothing could change that. The one beyond that however, still had a few walls standing. Pockmarks scattered across the walls, generally around chest height. Shepard snorted at that. Amateurs. Professionals fired at the pelvis; break that and the target was easier to either kill, or flee.

He paused and analyzed the pattern again. On the other hand, the trained method for a non-charging target was a classic Mozambique spread, two to the chest, one to the head. These definitely had that appearance.

A faint scraping sound triggered his training. Shepard dove behind cover, then scanned the area. The sound didn't repeat itself.

Shepard scanned the area. Nothing was actually _in _place, so spotting what was _out_ of place was the difficult part … except for the foot sticking out from behind a fallen wall.

He pussyfooted his way over to the extended limb, checking for traps the entire way. It wiggled slightly, indicating life.

Shepard pushed away some of the looser rubble, finally catching the largest piece and heaving it into the night. Beneath was … a very injured man. A faint rising of his chest indicated there was still life … though he didn't want to know what the raiders had done to him.

With a soft exclamation, Shepard dropped to one knee, scanning with his omni-tool. Multiple fractures and extensive contusions covered the body. Multiple medi-gel shots were required to even bring the man back to consciousness.

"Where … where are they?" the man asked.

Shepard checked his HUD. "Nowhere near us. Who are you?"

The man groaned, trying to move his leg. "My … my name … is Earl."

Shepard smiled. "Well, Earl, I have good news for you."

"What?" the man was definitely interested, despite the broken leg.

"Your kids are safe; Ted Kosin said to tell you you're 'as muleheaded as your tractor, but not as smart.'"

Earl chuckled, then winced. "That's Ted all right."

Realization forced the injured man into a sitting position. "Wait, Elysium, have they attacked yet?"

Shepard laughed. "They've been hitting the city all damn day. Only made one dent, but we're holding."

"No! Now! They had …" Earl coughed … deep from his chest … "bodies. Dead people. Live ones too. The slavers found a bunker and couldn't open it, so they blew it apart. Took the bodies … brought them here."

Shepard went still. "And?"

Earl hacked, he'd definitely be needing hospital treatment. "They cut 'em open like butchers, said they would get 'em into the city. They all left about two hours ago."

Instantly Shepard tapped his comm system. "Arvid, respond!"

Arvid came back strong, gratifyingly quickly. "Go ahead."

"Recall all mobile units, get every last soldier, volunteer and civilian back inside, and send a gunship for me. Now!"

"Understood." Arvid didn't bother signing off, changing channels. Soon, Shepard could hear the Russian barking orders out on the other channels.

Shepard helped Earl up, and the two staggered to the top of a nearby hill. Soon, they were picked up by another Mantis.

"Pilot, do you know if this boat has an arms locker?" Shepard asked.

The pilot, a teenager by the looks of it, pointed aft. "I saw something in the back, had an Alliance seal on it though."

Shepard found the trunk and popped the seal. Inside was the standard equipment for Alliance aerial assault, including the specialized hardware for the different unit armor types.

"Sir!" the pilot called out. "Elysium is under direct assault!"

"Did the Makos' get back?" Shepard called back. He was busy snapping together more hardware.

The pilot listened for a moment. "Most of 'em sir. Last one got caught in a grenade launcher attack, but the crew and passengers cleared out and got through."

Shepard unclamped his sniper rifle. "Get me over Elysium. Hover if you can."

The pilot grinned, popping his knuckles. "They have rocket launchers, but they haven't hit me yet."

The gunship roared over the countryside, flashing past ground vehicles and dwellings. Before Shepard expected it, they could hear the coughing roars of grenade launchers, and the answering explosive retorts of artillery.

Another gunship rose to meet them, then spiraled away upon recognition. Miniature incandescent fountains sprayed from its lower chassis as it turned on the perimeter, scattering a few slavers. A side-panel opened, rotating out the rocket launcher, emitting a few blasts on the assailants.

"This good sir?" shouted the pilot.

Shepard waved him higher, "I need a good view of the situation. Can you get me a little closer to the center?" The tactical maps omni-tools projected weren't good enough, not with the software civilians had. Unfortunately, that was the best most of the Salem defenders possessed.

The gunship soon reached an altitude on par with the skyscrapers and hovered, turning slowly in place. Shepard searched as far as he could see, and did not like what he saw.

Somehow, the slavers had managed to get an armored column past the breach. Probably with explosives, by the char markings. Now they were rolling through the city, blasting in all directions, infantry racing to both keep up and pacify civilian resistance.

On the outside edge, more infantry with heavy weapons were destroying more sections of the wall, creating a larger chasm to cover. The militia was doing a valiant job covering the gap, but the Alliance marines were pinned down by several well covered, Grizzlies.

Shepard made a snap decision. "Arvid, can you hear me?"

"Da, Shepard."

"Take out the heavy weapons, get that hole blockaded if you can. I'm sending a gunship to help with the tanks."

"Roger Vilco. Anyting else? Maybe a cup of tea?" As always, Arvid was unusually lighthearted in battle. It kept morale up, of nothing else.

"Affirmative, once the marines are clear, send a squad back into the city. They have an unknown number of heavy assault vehicles and infantry over platoon strength running through the commercial district. Their vector is towards residential section. I'll need the backup."

Arvid was an N5. He knew Shepard's capabilities, but some things, if only for proprietary sake, needed to be said.

"Shepard, are you _insane_? That's a whole column!"

Shepard sneered playfully. "What, slavers? I destroy problems like _them_ on my way to _real_ problems."

The line was silent for a moment. Then, "Good luck Shepard. You'll get your backup as soon as possible. And Shepard?"

"Yeah?"

"The kids are safe. I got zhem to the bunker before the lead started flying."

The injured farmer groaned from his on the floor, "Great, let me outta here. Man was never meant to warble, get me to my kids. Eat lead, potato! How do I taste Moby? Do I taste good?"

Shepard looked at the pilot, "Medi-gel reaction?"

The pilot rolled his eyes, "I studied aeronautics, not biology. Whoa!" he mashed his control panel as the gunship shook, barriers fluctuating.

Shepard steadied himself, leaning a shoulder on the wall. The external power supply for his armor was almost attached, "What happened?"

The pilot flicked his hands through the haptic interface. "Rockets, sir. Orders?"

Shepard finished with the buckles. "Head back and get the coordinator free. He'll give you directions."

The pilot looked up at a sudden rush of wind through the vehicle. "What are you doing, you crazy?"

Shepard opened the side panel a little wider and stood backwards to it. He grinned. "No, I just visit there," and let himself fall.

* * *

**A/N: This was about 10k words long, so I broke it about here. While it is improved from its former state, I think there are still a few issues; if someone would be so kind as to tell me what they are, I can fix them when I can. Thanks for reading, you're the best!**


	3. Finale

~o~O~o~

Shepard counted down the seconds, _Rate of descent … eh … higher than 1 G standard rate. Let's say an acceleration of 9.6 meters … from a height of about four hundred feet … is it a bad time to ask for an appeal for common sense?_

A little known fact is that all Alliance soldiers are able to make short jumps from air to ground. The shield systems built into their hardsuits were designed to decrease their rate-of-descent, in the event of a sudden loss of altitude. In a pinch, it could turn a Kodiak crash into a potentially survivable event, instead of a flat pile of highly trained protein.

However, Alliance command had wanted more than basic survivability. Each category had been given their own unique style, and their armor was tailored to that uniqueness. Front-line soldiers were given upgrades that boosted their strength on impact, allowing for hard-and-fast. Engineer's possessed a high degree of electronic interference gear, using their airspeed and altitude to interfere with enemy positions.

Biotics were given less of an advantage because they already had one, being able to alter their effective mass. This allowed them to do almost anything the other branches could do, and allowed the space normally dedicated to hardware carry a high-energy liquid. Few complained, calories were hard to come by in a firefight.

Shepard, as a trained Infiltrator, had been given upgrades enhancing stability. A sniper was able to "hang" in midair, observing the terrain with minimal turbulence. That particular upgrade was lacking in the armor he'd grabbed from Salems' Alliance base … jumping from a gunship hadn't exactly been on the itinerary. When he'd actually gotten into the gunship, he had immediately added the necessary hardware from the shot locker Alliance craft were required to have. If … they were working. _Gott im Himmel … what have I done?_

To his intense relief, the stabilizers activated. There was an instant of rushing wind, constant noise blasting past his ears. It felt … natural. The falling lent a calm feeling, even for new people; the difficult part was actually taking that first step into nothing.

The world stopped spinning, and Shepard unshipped his rifle. Far below he could see the armored vehicles churning their way towards the residential sector. He could also see the snipers he'd organized high on the towers, taking out slavers one at a time. The asari volunteer spotted him, and waved in his general direction. Her abrupt spin almost convinced Shepard that she'd been shot … until he saw her lowering the rifle from her shoulder, already searching for another target.

From his temporary vantage point, Shepard could observe a few slavers counter-sniping the nests. He adjusted his fall rate to as slow as possible and memorized the location of several targets.

Adjusting for the rate of descent and distance was not difficult, since he had to aim almost straight down. The first shot blew him off course, however _Stupid Newton. Stupid physics_. With nothing to brace against, Shepard drifted sharply to the left. He adjusted, of course, and fired again, blasting his course askew again. He had time for one more shot, hitting the engine block of the lead tank before his gun overheated. His new course led to a rather harsh landing against the side of a building.

The world went gray around Shepard as his armor countered the impact. When he could see, the center of his vision focused on a blue hand held out to him. He grasped it, hauling himself to a standing position.

Shayna grasped his hand firmly. "'Tis good to see you again, and on such a timely basis."

Around them, a mixture of humans, asari and salarians clambered along the heights, taking occasional shots at the slavers below. On their part, the slavers were taking cover to shoot back, or hiding beside the nearly invulnerable tanks.

Shepard took it in at a glance. "You've done well," he noted, "but we need a ground presence to drive them back for good."

Shayna grimaced. "Indeed you speak true. But the bulk of our forces are tied up at the wall, preventing more hostiles from entering. None of us can challenge these slavers on the ground, they have far too much firepower."

Shepard checked his shields status, they'd just finished recharging. "Don't you know," he stated casually, "that it's considered poor sportsmanship, telling a human something is impossible?" and for the second time in ten minutes, he jumped.

This time Shepard posed his fall for boosting morale, not only strategic effect. His shield managed to pull double duty, deflecting several potshots as well as getting him lower. The boot guides worked overtime to keep him stable, since Shepard was firing more constantly. The thunder of his rifle served as both a warning and a signal of doom; what Shepard shot at, he hit.

His vantage point allowed him to see slavers turning to face the new challenge. What _they_ saw was a dark shape falling from the sky, bursts of flame surrounding him. When several batarians in their midst dropped, the rest scattered, running, crawling, _anything_ to get away from the avenging angel.

Shepard flared his stabilizers, landing on both feet, one fist planted for balance. He ignored the return shots, choosing to glare as they pinged through what was left of his shields, digging furrows in his armor.

Above, Shayna directed the snipers to cover him as best as they could. A casual glance showed a dozen mercenaries flushed by his stunt, nearly all of which were now one with the universe.

Shepard stood tall against the slavers, letting them get a good look at him. Then he turned and ran like the wind.

* * *

~o~O~o~

The bunker in the Residential section well built. It had gunports, bay doors, a few turret emplacements and blast doors designed to keep out artillery shells.

However, it was not often used, only maintained by a dedicated crew that lost funding as peaceful years piled up. To wit, only two turrets actually worked, mostly facing the wrong direction, and the doors were stuck. Shepard could see scared men and women behind the jammed doors, listening to the approaching gunfire.

They saw him coming, running as only an N7 operative at the height of conditioning could run. He ducked an assault rifle burst, leaping over parked skycars and dodging obstacles as if he'd been doing it all his life. He actually had, if you thought of the obstacles as dense bushes and trees.

Behind him the raiders were rapidly losing their fear of the human. A few had charged after him, only to be cut down by the rooftop guardians. Rifle shots spanged off debris next to Shepard, the occasional pellet sparking blue off his shields.

The woman in charge of the holdout watched in a daze, then realized what she was doing.

"Cover 'im!" she screeched. Her voice wouldn't have shattered glass, but it just might have caused it to find a corner and reevaluate its purpose in life.

Gunports slid open and deadly metal gleamed through the shadows. A fusillade mostly inaccurate, but terrifying in volume, poured out of the apertures. Shepard slid to his knees between two skycars and huddled under the twin defenders of bad aim and limited fire angles.

The mercenaries behind him were not as lucky. They had been attacking a silent bunker filled with ready-to-sell merchandise, not people with guns. The response caught them completely off guard, several fell screaming while one actually lost his throat to a lucky shotgun blast. The rest scrambled for cover.

Shepard crawled out on his knees, hands raised. "Alliance Marine, coming over!" he called.

A voice shouted back. "More coming, stay down!"

Shepard instantly ducked flat. More fire came by his head, farther this time as the panicked volunteers got their nerves under control.

The more practiced mercenaries finally began returning fire, finding targets in the bunker. However, the prospect of being eaten, or more realistically becoming slaves was not helping the mercenary cause greatly. Humanity as a whole still held an incredible amount of respect for freedom, and held such a deep set cultural loathing for slavers that it was nearly a genetic trait.

Shepard lay on his back, watching the contrails of hyper-accelerated rounds pass over his face. _On the one hand the civilians are putting up a good fight. They have enough covering fire to keep me safe for a good long while … until some wise guy thinks to blow up the cars …_. _On the other hand, these slavers aren't new at this. Pacifying resistance without damaging the merchandise is their specialty, after all._

The slavers must have started feeling more confident. Shepard could hear them yelling insults at the civilians, promising retribution for making so much trouble.

"You keep shooting, y'hear? The fewer mates I have, the better my pay!"

"Whatsamatta in there? Thought you were tryin' to shoot me!"

One insult in particular caught Shepards ear. It was a male voice, rough and spoken with the familiarity of a non-native speaker.

"When I get my hands on you, I'll do to you just like I did those b**** on Mindoir!"

Time stopped. The last two words echoed around Shepards' mind like a bad dream. _On … Mindoir …. On. Mindoir. On Mindoir. OnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoir … … …. _The shock stunned him in place. Memories flowed through his minds' eye, nightmares from countless nights, images of … of … _demons dragging away Jimmy … neighbor girl too young to know better saying "Mommy don't leave us" … on his knees, their blood staining his hands._ The images changed to more recent times …_ Hours on the firing range … visualizing the faces of their murderers … the love and farewell of his __parents ... Son, you'll do us proud …._

The rage he'd controlled, not controlled, _buried_ for the past eight years … the rage he'd felt on the plains just before … the primal energy returned with a roar, redoubled in fury. Normally, Shepard controlled his anger, used it to go just a _little_ farther, hold out just a bit longer. Now, he discovered anger was good for more than just a skill boost.

In an eyeblink, Shepard swung around the skycar, targeted a four-eyed monster and sent a bullet straight through the shields and into the skull. Before his corpse hit the ground, the next batarian received the same fate.

Shepard moved smoothly, no clumsiness evident. His rifle boomed out like the gavel of justice, mangling another slaver so badly his own kin wouldn't recognize him.

The rifle beeped an overload; without pausing Shepard dropped the rifle and drew his pistol. He triggered shots almost as fast as an assault rifle, continuously driving back mercenaries under its battering, draining shields, ending lives. By the time the pistol overloaded, the rifle had cooled down. He picked it up without looking, firing from the hip through another slavers lower left eye.

Faces and voices from another era went through Shepards mind.

_Jims' dark blue eyes looked seriously into his son's. "I'm taking point because I have the most experience. Deal with it."_

Shepard rounded a corner, meeting a pair of batarians with shotguns. He dropped to one knee, scything the other leg into ankles. His knife came out from nowhere, slashing through femoral arteries.

_"They're after slaves, not just stuff." Nadia looked scared._

The next corner held a turian slaver. Shepard charged him, red tinged vision focused on nothing but the mismatched armor and a slowly rising gun. Before the turian could finish moving, Shepard was on him, grasping the head-fringe and lower mandible, _twisting._

_The neighbors' daughter_ _Talitha was pressed against the window, an expression of pure terror on her face. Her daddy was out there … she could see him …._

Shepard had no idea where the roaring sound was coming from, but it seemed to terrify the small men before him. He redoubled his pace, trying to outpace whatever was frightening his prey. Three had scattered for cover to one side, the rest had bunched together running for cover.

Instincts were in the fore, actions taken by muscle memory. A grenade flipped from Shepards hand soaring across the street. Even as it flew, his pistol cleared leather, slamming itself into his palm barking an angry vengeance on the three cowards just as the grenade detonated. Body parts flew past, ignored.

_Jim cursed under his breath. "Damn it, they got the Larsons."_

A full squad showed up ahead of the Marine. His long-distance pistol shots flashed around their feet. The squad leader stood forced them to stand ground, however. Their target was just a madman … granted, a madman that was chewing up soldiers. Still, organized counter-fire would kill anything.

_"John … my son …_ _Mother … wanted me … to tell you … we … love you." Jims' eyes closed, a small contented smile on his face._

Shepard rolled across the ground behind a concrete berm, howling from deep inside his chest. He threw another grenade in a high arc over the top, following it with a pair of glistening tech based mines. He popped up behind cover and triggered a burst, ducking back to re-equip his rifle. An explosion rocked the earth, followed by electronic whines. Coming out rifle first, he saw what was left of the squad scattering again, shields down, some falling. He made sure the rest of them fell, spacing out his shots with an almost animal instinct.

* * *

~o~O~o~

Shayna

Shayna directed her daughters fire on the street behind them, just as a squad of slavers bulled their way through the resistance. She didn't bother warning the other snipers; she could easily stop their advance herself. A few of them noticed the squad however and fired, missing in their haste.

Just as Shayna drew a bead, an explosion blocked her sight. Confused, she lowered her rifle, casting her eyes wider. A lone human knelt behind a barrier of some kind calmly taking down the slavers with lethal efficiency. Even as she watched, he put away his rifle, drawing a pistol and a knife to deal with a pain-addled batarian at close range. They sparred for only a few seconds before the batarian was down clutching its shoulder.

Shayna paused for a moment, watching the human. He was running as if possessed, yet fully capable of deadly precision. From her vantage point she could see another pair of slavers, human this time, coming at an angle around the next street.

The lone fighter stopped just prior to their rounding the corner, firing even before the slavers had turned. They couldn't help their momentum and ran straight into the storm, dying within moments.

_That is not a common ability_, Shayne knew. _That is the result of decades of training, or maybe years for a highly gifted salarian _… she hadn't seen anything like that outside of the Commandos though. Maybe the STG, when they'd condescend to train with the Commandoes.

More gunfire jarred her back to the situation. What looked like a small platoon had entrenched itself in a small building, but had left themselves vulnerable to a rear assault. Shayna saw a flicker of movement, then recognized one of the Marine detachments that had recently made planet-fall. They were sneaking behind the shed. A few seconds later, blasts of fire punched through the roof, collapsing the entire building.

Satisfied that the human had found reinforcements, Shayna flared her biotics to float over another rooftop. Her daughters circled, moving on other buildings, maintaining a distance that maximized overlapping fields while minimizing their exposure. She smiled proudly. She was certain that someday her daughters would eclipse her own formidable prowess.

Noticing a few targets, she redirected the two salarians under her command. Like all of their kind the salarians had been quick on the uptake, mastering the more difficult aspects of tactical positioning in a matter of hours.

Her attention was drawn back to the scene below. The single male Marine had outrun the marines behind the felled hut, scattering shots at a fleeing slaver. She shrugged and went back to her duty.

* * *

~o~O~o~

Dim shouting finally reached Shepards' consciousness. He could tell it was past midnight, the lack of a moon allowed a full view of the brilliant stars very possible. The Big Dipper was in a completely different configuration, but its component stars were still visible. More visible were the ethereal rings that glinted against the velvet black sky, hints of dawn barely detectable to the east. For the first time in a long while … it felt … peaceful ….

A marine in full combat gear pounded to a halt just ahead. Shepard could see his mouth opening and closing … the little wet tongue touching teeth for consonants …

"… _Lieutenant-Commander … ?"_

The marine had scuffed armor. Used recently, then. Shepard lazily twisted sideways, taking in the sight of a full marine squad running … _where? Something behind me, apparently …_

Something pulled at his shoulder, it was that first man again. "_Commander … you with …?"_

_I know this one, don't tell me_ … "I'm fit to fight," he finally answered. It must have been the right response, the shaking stopped. But the marine was still talking.

"… _Red Cross tent …"_ Something clicked, and Shepard could see normally again. His thoughts were still a little fuzzy. It took a moment for him to focus on what the marine was saying, "Over in the commercial district, do you need medical support Commander?

Shepard had to think about the question for a minute. All the rage he'd felt, the anger so deeply buried, was no longer so strong. Not gone, it would never be gone, but it was … lighter.

"Yeah …" he muttered. Then stronger, "Yes … thanks soldier. I'm doing fine."

The squad slowed a few rubbernecking as they passed. Arvid stopped, waving them onwards while he checked Shepard over carefully, "I thought you vere going to chase 'em all the way to the retaining wall, boss." he joked. His eyes, however, were concerned.

Shepard tried to reassure him. "Don't worry about me, Arvid. You know I'm far too stubborn to get downed by one of these squints."

Arvid made a show of looking around Shepard. "So it vould seem."

With a start, Shepard realized where he was. For the sake of the soldiers grinning at him and resetting their pieces, he didn't allow a visible reaction, but when he looked at himself … he was … blood stained … all along his left side. The knife he always carried was still strapped to his leg, but the grenade he always taped to it was gone … and the handle looked heavily scraped. More dents and pockmarks were evident on his armor … and yet he had only a vague memory of what had happened.

Reality kicked in.

"We have a lot to do to do before the night's done." Shepard barked. The marines responded to the tone, assuming ready positions with professional speed. "Lock and load boys, move 'em out."

Arvid leaned over as the men and women shouted agreement, flooding towards the retaining wall. "You always vanted to say that, didn't you." He said, eyes twinkling. It wasn't a question, just a statement.

Shepard shrugged. "The world may never know."

* * *

~o~O~o~

If Shepard was any judge, this latest failed attack was the last straw for the invaders. They'd been promised easy slaves, enough to cover the costs of an expensive assault. But now … their ships were being systematically destroyed from orbit and their best effort in taking the city had failed miserably. If that farmer spoke truly though … the slavers had a backup plan.

"Commander." Captain Feyn Meyca seemed glad to see the superior officer. "They're setting up something.

"Let 'em." Shepard strolled along the wall, enjoying the music throbbing above. It was a ploy, letting the enemy see him, but more importantly letting the _civilians_ see him. Too late he noticed some of the noncoms using their omni-tool as cameras … blast it. Front-page news was _not_ how he intended to finish out this day.

He caught his train of thought. "We have a lot more bullets if they want to try another rush, but this time I suggest we let the tanks handle it."

A shout from outside the walls garnered his attention. "Wonder what that is?"

_That_ turned out to be a batarian wielding some sort of megaphone. While that was not unusual, he had a line of human civilians behind him, each with a captor holding a gun to his or her head.

Shepard twitched, _almost_ reaching for his rifle, but he managed to still the angry beast struggling against his ribs. It was a struggle, but the beast responded to his touch now, no longer blindly unleashed.

"Human!" the batarian shouted. "I know you're up there! Quit hiding behind your walls!"

Shepard waved from his position. "The only hiding here is being done by your cowardly scum. Drop the hostages and I'll _consider_ letting you live."

The batarian flushed…although it was hard to tell. Batarian skin always looked flushed. "Surrender or the prisoners get it!" he yelled back.

"El-See?" murmured Arvid.

Shepard looked out over the prisoners. More were gathered in a large group just out of assault range, with multiple guards. The guards weapons were very obvious.

"Contact Captain Meyca. Tell him to get the gunships moving on a precision strike, southeast. After they're in position, all units fire at will." Shepard muttered.

He turned to face the spokesman theatrically. "What guarantee do I have that you won't kill all of us?" he called back.

The slaver lifted his megaphone, gesturing at the prisoners. "You don't. I have the slaves, I'll kill them before I let you take them. And if you don't surrender, I'll kill them before I kill you!"

"Bold words from slime that can't even make good on his threat. You say you can kill me? I dare you! Kill me now!" Shepard flung both arms outward in an inviting gesture. A shot missed his head by a small margin.

"That the best you can do?" Shepard laughed at the furious slaver. "I've killed hundreds of your kind in the past few hours alone, probably more. I've killed _thousands_ of slavers in the last couple years. And you think you can bandy words with me? Get your boss, his retarded monkey shouldn't be trying to negotiate."

The roar of gunships blasted over whatever the batarian was trying to say. Five Mantis gunships dropped out of the clouds, mini-guns roaring their death-song. Marksmen in the missile bays took precision shots, taking out triggermen. In return, the slavers fired indiscriminately, at least until they met their fate.

A Marine contingent led by Arvid charged out the breach rounding up what prisoners still lived … although many might not have wanted too. Shepard had once told his friend what batarian slavers did to their slaves, how implants were shoved into their brains for controlled obedience. Anticipating that kind of response, Arvid had engineers deploy scrambling devices, blocking the slavers commands. The engineers circled the herd of prisoners while shuttling the prisoners back into the city. Some could be saved … others … would be avenged.

The slavers rallied, pushing again. Somehow they'd gotten their heavy weapons close enough to the wall, forcing the defenders to stay down most of the time. Fortunately, the Makos were more than capable of covering the breach. Small arms fire bounced off their thick armor like mayflies on the freeway. Every time the slavers made a concerted effort to charge through the gap, the Makos coordinated fire; anything that made it through the withering barrage was taken down by an angry milita.

Shepard leaned back against the protective lip of the wall. He was still angry … but somewhat gleeful as well. On his own, he'd never have been able to gather all those prisoners, and the batarians had done it for him.

That made him chuckle.

The two krogan nearby heard him. The elder bared his teeth approvingly, nudging the younger. "See, some humans can get it," he rumbled. One massive arm indicated the militia, "Others are surrounded by targets, getting shelled, have a weapon in their hands, and keep whining. This human," he nodded towards Shepard, "sees the opportunity."

Shepard didn't bother correcting the krogan. There was something to what the krogan said … when the odds were stacked, you could get the most kills.

Using that line of thought, he jerked above the wall, and fired three times. Dropping back down, he pulled up his omni-tool and tapped it. "Three shots," he gave his best carnivore smile to the krogan, "three kills."

Both krogan laughed, throwing their heads back. The smaller one with red markings stood, scorning the incoming fire hitting his shields. His assault rifle thundered to life, spitting lead at the gathered slavers.

Even as the krogan fired, an unearthly roaring noise gradually rose to hearing level. It overpowered even the barking detonations of grenade launchers.

Shepard looked up tiredly. What he saw looked downright heavenly. _Is that? No … maybe … It is! Hallelujah!_

Dozens of Kodiak class shuttles flew in formation, deafeningly loud. Mixed in the formation were Trident fighters. Even from a distance, Shepard could see the Tridents were all armed with HailFire air-to-ground missiles.

A welcome voice came over his omni-tool, shunted in by the media liaison.

_"Lieutenant-Commander, this is Captain Anderson. Here comes the cavalry, son."_

A second voice broke through just after the Captain. _"Hey Shepard, Karl here. I have around a thousand missiles ready for deposit, where would you like to bank them?"_

Shepard laughed aloud. "It's good to hear your voice Captain, we've been holding out down here. Can you tell Karl to trash the shuttles? They're parked about thirty klicks out of town."

Shepard stood, raising both arms skywards. Startled defenders caught a glimpse, then saw what he was staring at. Contrails spiraled from the brightening sky, exploding through the slaver ranks.

The victory yells only grew from there.

* * *

~o~O~o~

Shepard watched as the militia and civilians cheered uncontrollably, shuttles swooping into the city. Squad after squad of Alliance Marines leaped from the shuttles in action mode, ignoring the crowd, securing the area and rushing medical supplies to where it was needed.

Further out in the fields, explosions erupted into clouds of grey smoke. Shuttles that had made it into the air clumsily tried avoiding the Tridents, but few actually reached space. Those that did make it were unable to rendezvous with their motherships … the entire 5th Fleet had arrived, fresh and loaded for bear.

Relief crews came down on the second wave of shuttles. Volunteers swarmed to the medical facilities set up by the first wave. They were needed. Thousands of civilians were hurt, hundreds killed. The emergency response teams from the city were nearly all exhausted; while some had volunteered for the militia, others had stayed back and made run after run through live fire to help the wounded. A full thirty percent had urgently required medical attention themselves, none would escape without scars.

Shepard had to acknowledge one fact: it had been a bloody disaster for the slavers.

_This can't be right,_ he thought, scrolling through a report. Drones had been sent out, scanning the battlefield. An estimated three thousand had managed to escape and fifty vessels managed to escape via the Mass Relay, despite the best efforts of the Fifth Fleet and the _SSV Agincourt_ frigates.

Shepard shook his omni-tool in disbelief. Even accounting for escapees, the final death toll for enemy combatants was eventually settling on over twelve thousand raiders, five hundred and thirty vessels, and two dozen ground vehicles.

The defenders of Elysium had losses as well. Hundreds had been killed in the initial suicide shuttle attacks; one of the shuttles managed to make a direct impact on one a civilian bunkers. The first two levels had collapsed, crushing the inhabitants.

Of the thousands in the Elysium militia, a full one hundred and thirty-three had died defending the walls. Half of those had given their lives holding the breach until Shepard and the Marines filled the gap in their last enraged charge. Five volunteer snipers had died, a testament to the capable leadership of Shayna, the former Armali Commando. Apparently, she'd already been offered a defense contract, but had turned it down.

Between both sides, over five hundred thousand rounds were fired, not including grenades, rockets and mines. Not a single Trident fighter had been lost, although one of the A-61 Mantis gunships had been shot down.

On the plus side, the Governor had apparently recovered, but had elected to stay out of the command structure during the fighting. His Lieutenant had survived the fighting, and was going to be tried on the charges of Aiding and Abetting Slavers, Treason to the Alliance, and engaging in criminal actions. It was a good probability he would be convicted on all counts. So good in fact, that somehow, on his trip to the holding cell, he managed to obtain a sidearm, attempting to escape. His attempt was short lived in every sense of the word.

~o~O~o~

Two Days Later

The collar itched. It always did. No matter what Shepard tried, the dress blues had an itchy collar.

There were, of course, cameras. Lots of them, to match the huge crowd, so he had to maintain his composure and avoid allowing his face to twitch … despite the irritation of an itchy collar. And boredom at political glad-handing. _I leave politicians alone when I work, why can't they leave me alone when they work?_

Captain Feyn Meyca was out in the audience, a knowing look in his eyes. Was that a smirk?

With a start, Shepard realized the current speaker was prompting him up to the podium. Captain Anderson, as his immediate superior was beckoning, a small box in his hand.

Shepard put on his Best-And-Brightest face and kept his shoulders back. No one liked seeing a slump-shouldered soldier. All soldiers had to be tall and broad-shouldered. _Why not a skinny lethal soldier? Why couldn't it be anyone but __me?_

Admiral Hackett, representative of the 5th Fleet stood next to the podium and nodded sagely. Shepard was somewhat assured, the Admiral was a wise master of conflict, in multiple theatres. Political efforts always seemed dissipate before they reached the Admiral.

Two rows of Marines saluted as he walked up to the microphone. Arvid, at their head, winked.

Hackett waited for Shepard to salute, then returned it with the speed and grace of a much younger man. First, he spoke to the crowd in his gravelly voice, extolling the virtues of Elysium. Next he spoke to the Marines, complimenting them on their holding action. Finally, he turned to the audience and really _looked_ at them, not just roving his gaze over individuals. His steel grey eyes blazed with an ancient fire.

"Lieutenant-Commander Shepard has been an exemplary soldier, a comrade-in-arms with whom every man and woman in the Armed Forces would be proud to serve." Hackett waited for the crowd to settle down, "His record, from the first day of enlistment has been a series of remarkable achievements. He is one of the few enlisted soldiers to be recommended for the ICT courses, and the first soldier to achieve all seven gradations within two years." The crowd cheered uproariously … calming again with a little difficulty. _Oh for Pete's sake, they don't know what … guess they're just in a celebratory mood._

"Shepards dedication and character have protected humanity since before he joined the Marines. On Mindoir, before he even reached the age of majority, he personally guided Marine rescue forces." Hacketts' expression faltered, it couldn't have been a good memory for anyone. "Tragically, most of Mindoir was lost. But Shepard still saw the value in defending the helpless, in standing vigilant guard over those who could not fight on their own."

Shepard swallowed hard. He avoided looking at the vid panels overhead, depicting various actions during his service. One of them showed the cemetery on Mindoir. Anderson had been decent enough to warn him ahead of time.

Admiral Hackett made a ninety degree turn to face Shepard, clicking his heels.

"Lieutenant-Commander, for your actions in defending the colony of Elysium, for your spirited defense and capable leadership in the worst of situations, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Full Commander."

Commander? This wasn't in the script ….

Admiral Hackett wasn't finished. After pinning the insignias on Shepards shoulder (shaking hands for the cameras), Hackett stepped back and waved down the audience.

"In addition, it has been decided by a unanimous vote, that further honor be given for the Defender of Elysium. Therefore, it is with great pride and even greater satisfaction, that I award you the Star of Terra."

Captain Anderson stepped forward smartly, holding up the opened velvet box. Inside shimmered the Star of Terra, a gold five-pointed star on a platinum circle, hanging from the middle of a gold chain. A phrase from Ancient Latin was etched in the center: _virum honoratum populus:_ To Honor a Hero of the People.

Hackett and Anderson stepped back and saluted. The crowd, already cheering, increased the volume. Someone still had control of a few loudspeakers on the walls, and started pumping a celebratory music list. Farther down, the Marines acted like undisciplined children; Arvid and Karl flung their formal-wear hats skywards.

Captain Anderson caught Shepards eye. The older man mouthed a phrase Shepard could easily lip-read, "_Well done, Commander_."

~o~O~o~

Three Days Later

"So, what are you going to do next?" Karl asked.

The combat engineer lounged on an expensive table. Shepard winced at the thought of potential damage to mahogany shipped from Earth. Being housed in one of the most expensive hotels on Elysium was nice, but … frightening.

"Soon as I can, I'm getting off Elysium." Shepard answered. "What about you guys?"

Arvid had his feet up on a footstool, "I'm staying on Elysium. The local Alliance post needs some looking after, what with the damage it took from the Blitz, and I can help."

"Yeah, and that _chica_ you've been seeing has nothing to do with it?" Karl teased.

Arvid flushed. "Tanya's just needed a little help settling back in, she was really shaken by that slaver squad."

"And your blundering in with a grenade and accidentally tripping her, then falling on her before the blast has nothing to do with it?" Karl kept his voice poisonously sweet.

Arvid changed the subject, "What about you Shepard, you ready to settle down?"

Shepard shivered. "It's been … offered …." he returned. "Offering" was a minimal description for some of the messages sent his way, some of which had been highly …descriptive … "but I'm headed out for my next mission in a few days."

Karl sat up sharply. "What? Where?"

Shepard smirked. "Need to know basis."

Karl mock-scowled, flinging an orange from a nearby fruit bowl. "Come on, you can tell us."

Arvid looked up, interested.

Shepard sighed. "Just a reconnaissance run … through some kinda rough neighborhoods. Apparently my ability to survive has gotten me some … attention."

Karl grinned. "Look out, someday you're going to be famous, _Commander _Shepard."

It was an interesting thought, Shepard had to admit. The title didn't sound too bad. Not bad at all.

* * *

**A/N: This is the final chapter of the Skyllian Blitz. I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it!**

**Thank you for the reviews, the suggestions and the impetus for correcting errors. Further thanks to Lady Aimee for her stellar knowledge of FanFic systems, The Werdna for his suggestions, and NightStride, for his tireless grammar corrections.**

**Until next time! **


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